Rivers of Ice, R. M. Ballantyne [motivational novels for students TXT] 📗

the Bridge, so ten to one it’s down about the docks somewheres—the wust place in London for a fire w’ich, of course, means the best.”

The idea of its being so afforded such unalloyed pleasure to Gillie, that he found it hard to restrain himself and accommodate his pace to that of his friend.

It soon became very evident that the fire was in truth somewhere about the docks, for not only was a dense cloud of smoke seen rising in that direction, but fire-engines began to dash from side streets everywhere, and to rush towards the smoke as if they were sentient things impatient for the fray.

The cause of such unusual vigour and accumulation of power was, that a fire anywhere about the docks is deemed pre-eminently dangerous, owing to the great and crowded warehouses being stuffed from cellars to roof-trees with combustibles. The docks, in regard to fire, form the citadel of London. If the enemy gets a footing there, he must be expelled at all hazards and at any cost.

As the Captain and his protégé hurried along, they were naturally led in the direction of their home. A vague undefined fear at the same instant took possession of both, for they glanced gravely at each other without speaking, and, as if by mutual consent, began to run. Gillie had no need now to complain of his companion’s pace. He had enough to do to keep up with it. There were many runners besides themselves now, for the fire was obviously near at hand, and the entire population of the streets seemed to be pressing towards it. A few steps more brought them in sight of the head of Grubb’s Court. Here several fire-engines were standing in full play surrounded by a swaying mass of human beings. Still there was no sign of the precise locality of the fires for the tall houses hid everything from view save the dense cloud which overshadowed them all.

Even Captain Wopper’s great strength would have been neutralised in such a crowd if it had not now been seconded by an excitement and anxiety that nothing could resist. He crushed his way through as if he had been one of the steam fire-engines, Gillie holding tight to the stout tails of his monkey jacket. Several powerful roughs came in his way, and sought to check him. The Captain had hitherto merely used his shoulders and his weight. To the roughs he applied a fist—right and left—and two went down. A few seconds brought him to the cordon of policemen. They had seen him approaching, and one placed himself in front of the Captain with the quiet air of a man who is accustomed never to give way to physical force!

“I live down Grubb’s Court, my man,” said the Captain, with an eager respectful air, for he was of a law-abiding spirit.

The constable stepped aside, and nodded gravely. The Captain passed the line, but Gillie was pounced upon as if he had been a mouse and the constable a cat.

“He belongs to me,” cried the Captain, turning back on hearing Gillie’s yell of despair.

The boy was released, and both flew down the Court, on the pavement of which the snake-like water-hose lay spirting at its seams.

“It’s in the cabin,” said the Captain, in a low deep voice, as he dashed into the Court, where a crowd of firemen were toiling with cool, quiet, yet tremendous energy. No crowd interrupted them here, save the few frantic inhabitants of the Court, who were screaming advice and doing nothing; but no attention whatever was paid to them. A foreman of the brigade stood looking calmly upwards engaged in low-toned conversation with a brother fireman, as if they were discussing theories of the picturesque and beautiful with special application to chimney-cans, clouds of smoke, and leaping tongues of fire.

Immense engine power had been brought to bear, and one of the gigantic floating-engines of the Thames had got near enough to shower tons of water over the buildings, still it was a matter of uncertainty whether the fire could be confined to the Court where it had originated.

The result of the foreman’s quiet talk was that the brother-fireman suddenly seized a nozzle from a comrade, and made a dash at the door leading up to “the cabin.” Flames and smoke drove him back instantly.

It was at this moment that Captain Wopper came on the scene. Without a moment’s hesitation he rushed towards the same door. The foreman seized his arm.

“It’s of no use, sir, you can’t do it.”

The Captain shook him off and sprang in. A few seconds and he rushed out choking, scorched, and with his eyes starting almost out of their sockets.

“It is of no use, sir,” remonstrated the foreman, “besides, the people have all bin got out, I’m told.”

“No, they ’aven’t,” cried Mrs White, coming up at the moment, frantically wringing the last article of linen on which she had been professionally engaged, “Mrs Roby’s there yet.”

“All right, sir,” said the foreman, with that quiet comforting intonation which is peculiar to men of power, resource, and self-reliance, “come to the back. The escape will be up immediately. It couldn’t get down the Court, owin’ to some masonry that was piled there, and had to be sent round.”

Quick to understand, the Captain followed the fireman, and reached the back of the house, on the riverside, just as the towering head of the escape emerged from a flanking alley.

“This way. The small window on the right at the top—so.”

The ladder was barely placed when the Captain sprang upon it and ran up as, many a time before, he had run up the shrouds of his own vessel. A cheer from the crowd below greeted this display of activity, but it was changed into a laugh when the Captain, finding the window shut and bolted, want into the room head first, carrying frame and glass along with him! Divesting himself of the uncomfortable necklace, he looked hastily round. The smoke was pretty thick, but not sufficiently so to prevent his seeing poor Mrs Roby lying on the floor as if she had fallen down suffocated.

“Cheer up, old lass,” he cried, kneeling and raising her head tenderly.

“Is that you, Cappen?” said the old woman, in a weak voice.

“Come, we’ve no time to lose. Let me lift you; the place is all alight. I thought you was choked.”

“Choked! oh dear, no,” replied the old woman, “but I’ve always heard that in a fire you should keep your face close to the ground for air—Ah! gently, Cappen, dear!”

While she was speaking, the Captain was getting her tucked under his strong right arm. He could have whisked her on his shoulder in a moment, but was afraid of her poor old bones, and treated her as if she had been a fragile China tea-cup of great value.

Next moment he was out on the escape, and reached the ground amid ringing cheers. He carried her at once to the nearest place of safety, and, committing her to the care of Mrs White, rushed back to the scene of conflagration just as they were about to remove the escape.

“Stop!” shouted the Captain, springing on it.

“There’s nobody else up, is there?” cried a fireman, as the Captain ran up.

“No, nobody.”

“Come down then, directly,” roared the fireman, “the escape is wanted elsewhere. Come down, I say, or we’ll leave you.”

“You’re welcome to leave me,” roared the Captain, as he stepped into the window, “only hold your noise, an’ mind your own business.”

With a mingled feeling of amusement and indignation they hurried away with the escape. It had been urgently wanted to reach a commanding position whence to assail the fire. The order to send it was peremptory, so the Captain was left in his uncomfortable situation, with the smoke increasing around him, and the fire roaring underneath.

The actions of our seaman were now curious as well as prompt. Taking a blanket from his old friend’s bed, he spread it below the chimney-piece, and in a remarkably short time pulled down, without damaging, every object on the wall and threw it into the blanket. He then added to the heap the Chinese lantern, the Turkish scimitar, the New Zealand club, the Eastern shield, the ornamented dagger, the worsted work sampler, the sou’-wester, the oiled coat, the telescope, the framed sheet of the flags of all nations, and the small portrait of the sea-captain in his “go-to-meetin’” clothes; also the big Bible and a very small box, which latter contained Mrs Roby’s limited wardrobe. He tied all up in a tight bundle. A coil of rope hung on a peg on the wall. The bundle was fastened to the end of it and lowered to the ground, amid a fire of remarks from the crowd, which were rather caustic and humorous than complimentary.

“Gillie,” shouted the Captain, “cast off the rope, lad, and look well after the property.”

“Ay, ay, Cappen,” replied the youth, taking up a thick cart-pin, or something of the sort, that lay near, and mounting guard.

There was another laugh, from crowd and firemen, at the nautical brevity and promptitude of Gillie.

At every large fire in London there may be seen a few firemen standing about in what an ignorant spectator might imagine to be easy indifference and idleness, but these men are not idlers. They are resting. The men who first arrive at a fire go into action with the utmost vigour, and toil until their powers are nearly—sometimes quite—exhausted. As time passes fresh men are continually arriving from the more distant stations. These go into action as they come up, thus relieving the others, who stand aloof for a time looking on, or doing easy work, and recruiting their energies. It was these men who watched the Captain’s proceedings with much amusement while their comrades were doing battle with the foe.

Presently the Captain reappeared at the window and lowered a huge sea-chest. A third time he appeared with the model of a full-rigged ship in his hand. This time he let the end of the rope down, and then getting over the window, slid easily to the ground.

“You’re uncommon careful o’ your property,” exclaimed one of the onlookers, with a broad grin.

“’Taint all my property, lad,” replied the Captain, with a good-humoured nod, “most of it is a poor old ’ooman’s belongings.”

So saying, he got a man to carry his sea-chest, himself shouldered the bundle, Gillie was intrusted with the full-rigged model, and thus laden they left the scene followed by another laugh and a hearty cheer.

But our bluff seaman was not content with rescuing Mrs Roby and her property. He afterwards proceeded to lend his effective aid to all who desired his assistance, and did not cease his exertions until evening, by which time the fire was happily subdued.

“She must not be moved to-night Captain,” said Dr Lawrence, for whom Gillie had been sent; “the place where she lies is doubtless far from comfortable, but I have got her to sleep, and it would be a pity to awake her. To-morrow we shall get her into more comfortable quarters.”

“Could she bear movin’ to-morrow, a mile or so?” asked the Captain.

“Certainly, but there is no occasion to go so far. Lodgings are to be had—”

“All right, Doctor; I’ve got a lodging ready for her, and will ask you to come an’ have pot-luck with us before long. Gillie, my lad, you go hail a cab, and then come back to lend a hand wi’ the cargo.”

In a few minutes the pair were whirling towards the west end of London, and were finally landed with their “cargo” on the banks of the Thames above the bridges, near the new building which Captain Wopper had named, after its prototype, “the cabin.”

To fit this up after the fashion of the old place was a comparatively short and easy work for two such handy labourers. Before they left that night it was so like its predecessor in all respects, except dirt, that